Tea for Three
by TheGoldenCrown
Summary: Sorry about lame title. Set after Sherlock's return. A bit of Sherlolly through John's eyes.


A/N:To those who are following/asking about Clarity: I have not given up on the second chapter, and I do intend to post it when I can. I am, unfortunately, very busy being distracted.

I wrote the first draft of this before I started Series Three, so Tom doesn't exist :)

oOo

It was a bright, sunny morning with chipper little bird songs, just as mornings always were in John's _good_ dreams.

This was a major part of the reason that he suspected he was in one.

The other was the happy circumstance of his life.

His best friend had come back from the dead and he'd successfully proposed (well, sort of) to the woman he loved.

He'd almost pinched himself twice since setting off to Baker Street.

Mary had practically shoved him out of the door, and probably would have led him here by hand if she hadn't been expected at work; John had always been off on Tuesdays before they'd met and had yet to change his schedule.

He stopped on at the front door to 221 Baker Street to send a text to Mary about dinner, then paused a moment on the stairs to read the reply and answer back.

He greeted the familiar door of 221B with a smile and reached out, either to knock or just turn the handle; he hadn't decided yet.

The door opened before he could touch it.

"John." Sherlock appeared in the door, in a dress suit as usual, neutral tone and expression, as usual, but he held the door open wide and something in the way he beckoned John into the flat hinted that he'd been expected (and perhaps also wished for) sooner.

John sighed tiredly, though he was really neither tired nor troubled. "Blimey, Sherlock. I came totally unannounced. You could pretend you didn't hear my phone or something."

Sherlock gave a exaggeratedly elated face as he led his friend into the sitting room. "John, what a lovely surprise! It's marvelous to see you! How's Mary?"

John smiled and wordlessly moved to his usual chair, which was just the way he'd left it, besides the dust that spoke of two years of distance between him and this place.

Sherlock frowned slightly as his friend rubbed a soft layer of debris off of the chair. "I meant to clean that before you came."

John had no time to process that before he heard a noise from the kitchen. He turned around, frowning incredulously at the sound of the kettle boiling.

There was a tall, slim figure with a ponytail bustling around the table, getting together a stack of papers. Molly Hooper looked up from her task and smiled at him.

"Don't mind me, John. I've just been helping Sherlock with something. Would you like a cup of tea?"

John nodded, slightly stunned. "Yeah, that'd be nice, Molly. Thanks."

She nodded and finished sorting her papers, then began preparing three cups of tea.

John shot a questioning look at Sherlock, who was standing in the middle of the room. He yielded only a shrug and the slightest smirk.

John could feel his whole face frowning in disbelief. Sherlock Holmes had a girl over?

Molly floated into the sitting room with a tray, laden with three mugs, and each of the party took one and fixed it to their own liking. John noticed that Molly seemed relaxed, whereas she used to always be so nervous in Sherlock's presence. Instead of focusing on him as she had then, she took his presence for granted.

It was John that currently held her attention.

"How are things with you, John? We haven't really spoken since..."

John immediately felt guilty, and he could tell she did too. He had not treated her terribly well in the aftermath of their doomsday; between his need to see a body and his inability to comfort anyone else when he was hurting, he wasn't surprised she'd stayed away from him.

She perched in Sherlock's chair, and Sherlock took a chair from the desk, watching the beginning conversation with silent interest.

John, feeling stupidly slow for staring so long at the sight of someone else in _Sherlock's chair, _gave a quick, awkward nod. "Things are good. Well, deliriously good, actually."

Molly smiled, looking almost relieved. "That's... good," she murmured, her voice far too meek.

John, feeling a reproachful gaze from Sherlock on his neck, swallowed. "Listen, Molly, I'm sorry about..well, you know. I suppose I was a git to you."

She looked uncomfortable. "Well, I'm sorry I had to keep things from you."

He shook his head. "Forget that. I doubt he'd be alive without you, so I won't complain about anything you did."

Her smile softened, and he could read the misery in her face, the fear of having caused pain, and the hope that she could heal. He understood.

"It's fine, Molly. Thank you. I'll probably never know how much I owe you."

Her smiled grew and she nodded, and John relaxed, knowing he'd been forgiven and had made her feel better.

As a doctor, John felt a sense of admiration for this pathologist. By the way she did her job and the way she treated people, he could tell she liked helping and fixing. No wonder she put up with Sherlock.

Well, still quite a wonder, but less than there had been.

As Molly relaxed into the chair and into idle conversation with John, Sherlock took to studying them, especially her. John noticed from the corner of his eye.

When Molly spoke, and even when Sherlock himself had been prompted to respond to her, he watched her with careful eyes, like she was a crime scene.

John remembered being analyzed like that. It'd happened much too frequently in the last few days. He liked having a reason to think he'd been missed, but it was refreshing to not constantly be the centre of Sherlock's attention.

Molly had been laughing at something Sherlock had said (which he had not intended to be funny) when her phone beeped. She gave a tiny sigh and checked it. "I'm wanted at work soon. I shouldn't have agreed to be on call this week."

They all stood, and Sherlock helped her get her stuff together while John returned the used mugs to the kitchen. He returned in time to hand Molly her coat and tell her goodbye.

"I'll see you later, John. I hope you enjoy your weekend."

"You too, Molly. Take care."

Molly smiled softly and turned to Sherlock, who stood in front of the door with his back to it. The man's expression was hard to unravel, but he looked somehow simultaneously pleased and disappointed.

She leaned into him and he placed a hand lightly under her chin, and their lips met in an awkward but sweet kiss.

John diverted his eyes uncomfortably until Sherlock straightened in his peripheral, and noticed that the detective looked, for lack of a better word, shy.

Molly was positively beaming. '"Take care, Sherlock," she ordered, squeezing his hand lightly and then releasing it to slip away.

As John watched Sherlock watching her go, his confusion melted away. He couldn't say he'd seen this coming (to tell the truth, he never would have guessed) but beyond the fact that it was utterly bewildering that Sherlock should deign to engage in a proper relationship, it made sense.

Sherlock shot him an uncertain look, and he smiled comfortably in return, which Sherlock seemed to take as a good sign. The detective returned to his chair and his default expression of near indifference, though John thought he may have looked more content than usual.

There was silence for a full minute as John set his teacup down and finished processing everything.

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't felt a hint of jealousy when, in response to his question ("So...Molly Hooper?") he had received what could only be described as an insanely happy grin and a quiet but firm "Yes."

oOo

A/N: I swear, I wrote this before the thing with Janine happened.


End file.
